The doors of the hall swung open, heavy and precise.
Anastia followed without hesitation.
The space beyond was narrow, lined with polished wood and steel, coldy precise.

It was Duke Kaeliath’s personal training ground.

Swords hung in perfect alignment. Racks held spears, daggers, shields.
Each item gleamed as if waiting for a ceremony rather than a battle.
The air carried no warmth, only the faint scent of oiled wood and cold metal.

The Duke stepped forward,
his eyes scanning her with the same measured attention he always reserved for things he deemed valuable.

“Choose a weapon,” he said. His voice left no room for argument.

Anastia’s gaze swept across the racks.
She paused only long enough to recognize shapes and weights, then answered flatly:

“I’ll fight barehanded.”

He inclined his head. No approval, no surprise. Just acknowledgment.

“Very well.”

They took their positions.

She struck first, movements precise, practiced.
Every motion carried her weight, her skill, her years of conditioning.

The Duke matched her effortlessly, step for step, strike for strike.

He was neither faster nor slower- neither stronger nor weaker,
just perfectly in step with her.

Something sharp flickered through her mind.
She had never faced anyone who moved like this,
who could match her without breaking pace.

The thought didn’t come as curiosity. It came as recognition:
he existed, and he was… formidable.

The Duke's movements never slowed, never faltered.
Each block, each counter, was executed as if anticipating her next strike,
yet none of it carried mockery or amusement.

He was precise, controlled, utterly human-
but beyond what she had ever imagined possible.

When the sparring paused for a single breath, he didn’t speak of skill or weakness.
He said only:

“You are a weapon. Trained. Conditioned. Ready. And now, you fight under my command.”

No warmth. No judgment. No attempt at comfort.
The words were a statement of fact, not affection.
Ownership of purpose, not person.

Anastia absorbed it as she did everything else- flatly, with observation.
And yet, in that observation, a new weight pressed on her:

the realization that she was not alone in power,
and her abilities now served a larger, deliberate purpose.

The sparring resumed, controlled, unflinching.
Each movement carved the silence between them.
She followed orders, executed precision.

He kept up. Always.

And she noted, in the quiet ledger of her mind,
that this was the first time she had seen someone like her-
someone who could exist at her level.

Someone who was… human.

Not in the sense of warmth, of care, of softness.
She had never understood those. 

But in timing, in precision, in awareness-
a being who could match her in every calculated motion.

She thought of the others she had fought, obeyed, or outmatched.
None of them had moved like this.
None had made her adapt or test herself against them. 

They had been nothing more than tools, obstacles, shapes in her world.

The Duke had been something else entirely-
not a master like those she had served, not a victim to pity,
something beside her, precise, unyielding.

When the sparring ended, he had not praised her, nor condemned her.
He simply stated, flat, factual, unflinching:

“You need to learn to use weapons as well.
Every form. Every edge. Every hold.
Understand them as you understand your power.”

She had nodded once, minimally. No pride, no satisfaction.
Only the acknowledgment of the task and the recognition of its necessity.

Then he said, simply, “Follow me.”

And she did. Not out of curiosity, not obedience, not fear-
only because that was the next action, and he had stated it.

The corridor was long, silent.
Each step measured, echoing against the walls.

For the first time in years, she realized power and awareness could coexist.
Someone could be strong, exact, alive.

Her soul had been simply dead.. at least until now.

The room that awaited her was unfamiliar, its purpose unknown.
And yet, a subtle tension took hold, devoid of warmth or comfort, but undeniable.

That room was lined with mirrors, each panel reflecting her countless forms, endless and identical.

The Duke's eyes scanned her, precise as always.
He did not speak at first. Then, his voice broke the silence:

“Look.”

She did, unblinking, flat, noting the stillness of her posture,
the absence of reaction in her face.

“What do you see?” he asked.

She tilted her head slightly. “Myself.”

“Do you?” he said, and his tone held no warmth, no judgment, only sharp observation.

 “Or what you were taught to be? The soldier. The weapon. The body that obeys.”

Her eyes traveled across her reflection. Nothing stirred.
Not curiosity. Not fear. Not pride. Only… her.

“You have been conditioned to follow. To act.
To suppress everything that might be considered weakness. And yet,”  

He stepped closer, careful to remain measured,

“you exist in a world full of humans who are not like you.
You have felt none of what they feel.
You have understood nothing of how it shapes them, how it moves them.”

She did not respond.

The Duke’s gaze did not falter.

“This is not a lesson in feeling. It is a lesson in awareness. 
The human you see outside yourself-  that world, those emotions -will shape everything you touch.
Your power will be meaningless if you cannot recognize it.
Observe them. Learn their ways. Through that, understand yourself.”

Her reflection multiplied, but for the first time, she noted something strange:
the spaces between her motions, the pauses, the angles-
subtle, almost like hesitation.

“You are not ordinary. And yet,” he said quietly, 

“human beings will notice things, even in a weapon.
Watch, learn, understand. That is what separates a blade from a force.”

She said nothing. She moved nothing.
And yet, a shift took place- 
not warmth, not softness, not fear,but a faint recognition.

A fraction of understanding that the world had patterns beyond orders and training.

The mirrors reflected her stillness, but for the first time,
she noticed a hint of humanity- not in herself yet, but in what she observed.

The Duke did not speak again. He only watched.
His purpose was clear: she would absorb this, consciously or not.
And when she left the room, she would carry a weight she had never carried before.

The Duke turned away, silent.
Anastia’s reflection multiplied endlessly before her.
And for the first time, she wondered if she could ever know what it truly meant to be human..